08/31/2026
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The sun grows low and amber deep,
Before the world goes off to sleep.
A two-year old in golden light,
Chases the glowing start of night.
The long, soft shadows stretch and play,
Across the lawn at close of day.
He runs through beams of melted gold,
A precious sight to catch and hold.
His tired feet begin to slow,
Bathed in the warm and heavy glow.
The evening sunbeams touch his hair,
And leave a golden halo there.
One final laugh, a sleepy sigh,
Beneath the painted sunset sky.
Golden hour fades to rest,
Cradled upon the twilight's breast.
